The President's Man 2

by Alex Ander

  “What happens if you do get these cuffs off? What then?” Layla could not take her eyes off the door. “We have no idea where we are and how many of them are waiting out there.”

  Abigail did not answer her friend. She was focused on feeling around the handcuff with the piece of metal. An image of Aaron Hardy entered her mind. He had showed her how to open a lock with items other than a key. The teaching lesson had been a fun diversion one day, while she waited for her father to finish his meeting. She never imagined ever being in a position to put the skill to good use, however. She heard a faint sound and her body froze. She drew back her right hand and the handcuff separated. I did it. I can’t believe it worked. She massaged her wrist. “I’m free. Pull on the chain.”

  The noise of the steel chain snaking its way through the wooden slats filled the room. When the noise stopped, Layla had the coiled chain and Abigail’s open handcuff in her hands. She held out her left hand, so Abigail could go to work on the remaining handcuff.

  Abigail shook her head and scooted to the end of the bed. “We can’t waste time on that. We need to get out of here. You’ll just have to carry it with you, until we can find a way out of this place.” She stood and sneaked toward the door in a low crouch. Her socks made no sound on the concrete floor, but she crept anyways, her heart beating faster.

  The window was high on the door. Squatting beneath the window, she lifted her body, until she could peek through the glass. She moved her eyes left and right. Glancing each way again, she whispered to Layla, “It’s clear.” Reaching for the doorknob, Abigail hoped and prayed it was not locked. She did not want to spend time unlocking it. She twisted her wrist and breathed a sigh of relief. The door was not designed to keep people from getting out. She eased the door open a crack and repeated the process of checking both directions. No one was in the hallway. She stuck her head out and listened. The only sound she heard was the constant hum from the overhead fluorescent lights. She motioned for Layla to follow.

  Once the girls were out of the room, they scurried down the hall and came to a corner. They pressed their backs against the cold concrete blocks. Abigail peeled her left shoulder away from the wall and stole a quick glance around the corner before whipping back around. She repeated this maneuver before spinning around and tiptoeing down the hallway, Layla close behind her. Abigail caught sight of stairs leading to an upper level. There was a door to her left, but the room was dark. She half ducked, when she moved past the window next to the door. Excited at the prospect the stairs would lead them to the outside world, Abigail trotted the last ten feet to the staircase.

  Ascending the stairs one-step at a time, the girls got to the landing. Turning left and moving toward a door, Abigail stopped. She heard someone talking on the other side of the door. She did not recognize the language. The person’s voice was getting louder. They’re coming. She spun around and motioned for Layla to stay where she was at the top of the stairs.

  With her cuffed hand, Layla beckoned Abigail. Threatening to announce their presence, the chain links clattered against each other. “Come on. We have to go back.”

  Abigail showed Layla the short length of pipe she had grabbed before leaving the room. “Distract him,” she whispered. “I’ll hit him.”

  Layla shook her head, but stood still.

  Abigail held the pipe in her hands like a baseball bat. Her hands were shaking and she was beginning to sweat, even though her body was cold. She saw the doorknob turn. The door swung toward her, almost touching her left shoulder. She heard a man speaking in a foreign language before he came into sight, walking toward Layla. Two times, she saw Layla shift her gaze from the man to Abigail and back to the man. Raising the pipe above her head and stepping out from her hiding place, Abigail swung the pipe like an axe, aiming for the back of the man’s head. She heard a crack and the man’s head went forward before he fell to the floor, landing on his left side. He moaned for a few seconds and reached for his head, while Layla stepped around him and followed Abigail through the door.

  Chapter 9: Interrogation

  December 23rd, 1:55 a.m.; Embassy of the Russian Federation (Washington, D.C.)

  Anderson Cole sat on a metal chair, his hands resting on a metal table in a sterile room in the basement of the Russian Embassy. There were no windows. Four walls of gray concrete blocks surrounded him. The only light came from a single low-wattage light bulb, suspended from a long cord, reaching to the ceiling. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and his wrists were secured in front of his body with hardened steel handcuffs. The handcuffs were anchored to a chain, wrapped around his midsection. A lone soldier stood in the corner behind and to the right of him. The soldier was barely visible, standing in the shadows.

  Cole was six-feet, two-inches tall and weighed two-hundred and twenty pounds. Even though he had lost almost twenty pounds during his captivity, he was a tall and solid man. His medium-length hair was brown and straight, parted on the left side of his head. A scar crossed his left cheek. The jagged white line was a visible reminder of his failure not only to kill as many shoppers as he could at a Minnesota shopping mall, but also his inability to keep his brother from being killed. The man who killed his brother barricaded his family inside the women’s restroom. When Cole broke in, the man hit him in the head with a fire extinguisher. After a prolonged struggle, the man got the upper hand on Cole and beat him until he was unconscious. The wound he received from the fire extinguisher never healed properly and produced the scar. Cole lived to one day get his revenge on the man and his family. Not a day went by that he did not think about the man, his wife and his daughter. He fantasized about what he would do to them, if he ever got the chance. Interrupting his thoughts, the door across from him opened and a man and a woman entered. The woman stepped aside, while the man closed the door. The sound of the door closing reverberated off the hard surface of the walls and floor.

  The man was wearing blue jeans, a black and white flannel shirt and a black leather jacket. On his feet, he wore a pair of brown six-inch high, cross-training boots. His female companion wore similar blue jeans with a black blouse and a black knee-length blazer. Chunky, one-inch heels rounded out her attire. Her long brown hair was drawn into a high ponytail at the back of her head.

  Cole watched the man grab a metal chair from the corner of the room, across from the guard. Placing the chair on the opposite side of the table, the back of the chair facing Cole, the man sat. “Who the hell are you?” He ogled the woman, who was standing behind the man. “More importantly, who’s the hottie?”

  Crossing his forearms and resting them on the back of the chair, Aaron Hardy leaned forward. With his thumb, he scratched the bottom of his chin, creating the faint sound of whiskers being rubbed against the grain. Hardy fixed his eyes on Cole, who had not stopped gawking at the woman. “First, who we are is not important. Second, I’m going to ask you questions and you are going to provide answers…swiftly and completely. Once I’m satisfied that I have everything I need, you’ll be taken back to your original cell. Do I make myself clear?”

  Cole smiled and rotated his head left and right, examining the room’s décor. “I don’t know if I want to leave. I’m starting to like my new accommodations.”

  “Who were you working with when you assaulted that mall in Minnesota?”

  “Is that what this is all about?” Cole snorted. “I’ve said all I’m going to say about that through my lawyer.” He paused and cocked his head. “In fact, where is my lawyer? I demand that he be present for this questioning.”

  Hardy chuckled, lowered his head and slowly shook his head back and forth. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get wha—”

  Hardy leapt from his chair, wrapped his hands around the back of Cole’s head and slammed the man’s face into the table. Cole’s head bounced off the metal table and rocked backward, revealing a twisted and broken nose. Blood was streaming down his face, until it dripped onto his orange jumpsuit. Cole roared, while Hardy cir
cled behind. “You’re not on American soil anymore, Anderson. You’re not getting a lawyer.”

  Hardy had contacted FSB agent Natasha Volkov to arrange the prisoner transfer to the Russian Embassy, so Hardy could conduct his interrogation, unimpeded by the American judicial system. Afterward, the prisoner would be transferred back to American custody. Jameson had made sure Cole was delivered from his holding cell to the Russians in secret.

  When Special Agent Cruz saw Hardy break the man’s nose, she uncrossed her arms. Her eyes widened and her jaw fell open. “Hardy!”

  Not hearing her, Hardy grabbed Cole’s hair and yanked the man’s head backward. Leaning forward, he spoke into Cole’s right ear. His voice was calm. “Where you are right now, you don’t have any rights.” He pointed toward the door. “No one is going to knock on that door and save you. It’s just you and me. This questioning is going to continue, until you tell me what I want to know.” Hardy tossed the man’s head forward and let go. “It can be as pleasant or as difficult as you want to make it, Mr. Cole.”

  Cruz drew closer to the table. “What are you doing, Hardy?”

  Motioning toward the handcuffs, Hardy addressed the soldier. “Remove his cuffs. I want this to be a fair fight.”

  “The prisoner is to remain shackled at all times, sir. I have strict orders.”

  Hardy retrieved his cell phone and held it up to the soldier. “Private, I’m operating under the direct authority of the President of the United States. If you don’t believe me, I have his number on speed dial. You can ask him yourself.” Hardy glanced at the time on the phone. “It’s a little after two in the morning and I’m sure the President is sleeping.” He began tapping the phone’s screen. “However, if you want to wake him and get his approval, I’m good with that.”

  Cruz had seen enough of Hardy’s behavior. She walked around the table and stood in front of him, her face inches from his nose.

  He stopped dialing and gaped at Cruz. Her eyes were narrow slits. Deep lines had appeared on her forehead.

  “Agent Hardy,” she said through clenched teeth, “I’d like a word.” She wheeled around and stormed out of the room, leaving the door open.

  Walking toward the door, Hardy tapped his phone and acknowledged the soldier. “Private, you have until I get back to make up your mind. I suggest you use that time wisely. Your career depends on it.” As Hardy exited the room, he heard Cole chuckling.

  “I see who wears the pants in this relationship, Agent Hardy.” Cole’s chuckle became a belly roar.

  Hardy closed the door and faced Cruz, who wasted no time in conveying her feelings.

  “What are you doing?” She dropped her hands to her hips. “Is this your idea of an interrogation? Do you just plan to beat the information out of him?”

  Hardy cocked his head to the right. Yes, that’s exactly what I plan to do. He rolled his eyebrows downward. “When you heard my plan in the Situation Room, what did you think was going to happen?” Hardy was serious. He had assumed she knew what was going to take place.

  Cruz leaned back and studied him, the nature of his plan coming to the forefront of her mind. “I don’t believe it. You are going to torture that man to get information.” Spinning around, she crossed her arms and put a hand to her forehead.

  Hardy failed in his attempt not to come across as patronizing. “I would prefer that he just be open and honest with me, but somehow I don’t think that’s in his nature.”

  Hearing his tone, she whirled around and jabbed her finger at him. “Watch it. Don’t talk to me that way.”

  Holding up his hands, he backtracked. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I understand you’ve questioned suspects before. In those instances, you had to follow the letter of the law or your case would not stand up in court. I get it. I don’t operate under those same constraints, however.”

  Cruz raised her eyebrows.

  “We’re fighting a war against an enemy that makes no distinction between combatants and civilians, including women and children. I make no excuses for my methods. I get my information through any means necessary.”

  “Even if that means taking away a person’s rights and—”

  “He has no rights. He’s not on—”

  “American soil,” said Cruz, finishing his sentence. “You’re splitting hairs and you know it.” She turned her back on him and stepped away.

  Hardy watched her. He knew she was right. His plan hinged on a technicality; however, he also knew time was not on their side. According to the kidnapper’s timeframe, there were less than twenty-two hours left before they would start hurting Abigail. At this point, Anderson Cole was the only lead to finding the kidnappers.

  “Cruz, this is Abby we’re talking about. She’s not just the President’s daughter. She’s someone we both know. And right now, she’s somewhere…hopefully still in this country…being held by some sick bastards, who are using her to get what they want.” Hardy approached Cruz, placed his hands on her shoulders, and spun her around. “You need to understand that I’m going to do whatever it takes and I won’t stop, until Abby is safe.”

  Cruz lifted her head and opened her mouth to speak.

  He raised his hand. “Before you say anything, think about this…What if Abby was your younger sister…What if she was your daughter? What would you do to get her back safe and sound?”

  Cruz needed a scant few seconds to formulate an answer. Even though she did not have any siblings or children, she knew in her heart that if Abby was her daughter, and she was missing, Cruz would move Heaven and earth to get her back. She felt like a hypocrite, chastising Hardy for doing something she would have done, too. With her chin, she motioned toward the door. “Do it.”

  Hardy nodded his head before taking a step backward, spinning around and moving toward the door.

  Watching him walk away, Cruz felt as if she was seeing something new in Hardy. She had heard about his passionate devotion to those who were close to him; however, those had been only stories. Now, she was experiencing this side of his personality. He disappeared behind the closing door. Even though it did not seem like an appropriate emotion to have at this moment, she felt her love for Hardy growing. She allowed her mind a few seconds to fantasize about having a family and children one day. Hardy was the man with which she wanted to build that family. She now realized he would do everything in his power to keep her, and their children, safe.

  Cruz walked away from the door. A little ways down the hall, she stopped. Leaning against the wall, she touched the fingertips of her right hand to her head, chest, left and right shoulder, making the sign of the cross. “Lord, God, be with Aaron and help him get the information we need to find Abby. May he not have to use any unnecessary tactics to get that information. And, please be with Abby. May she find strength in You to stay strong. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.”

  Hardy shut the door after entering the room. He spied the soldier. “What’s it going to be, Private?”

  The soldier hesitated, thinking of his options. Slowly, he walked to the prisoner and produced a key. He unlocked the handcuffs and stood back.

  “Good choice,” said Hardy before jerking his left thumb over his shoulder. “Get a cup of coffee and do not open that door, no matter what you hear. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the soldier, moving toward the door.

  Once the door was shut, Hardy took off his leather jacket and draped it on the back of the metal chair. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt and covered his leather jacket. He was wearing only a muscle shirt, jeans and shoes. His chest muscles bounced, when he came closer to the table, while his tight undershirt accentuated the size of his upper arms.

  “Is this supposed to turn me on?” Cole was pointing toward Hardy’s muscular frame.

  Hardy shrugged. “Whatever works for you,” he said. “It makes no difference to me. I just don’t want to get your blood on my clothes.”

  Cole laughed and wiped blood from his chin. “You’re an arrogant piece of w
ork, aren’t you?”

  Hardy lifted his right leg and sat on the edge of the table to Cole’s right. “I like to think of myself as…confident. The President’s daughter has been kidnapped. Tell me what you know about it?”

  Cole sneered. “That’s too bad and…oh yeah…screw you, as—”

  Hardy cut off Cole before he could finish his sentence. Cocking his left arm, he delivered a left cross to Cole’s right cheek. His fist connecting, Hardy felt the man’s soft skin on his knuckles before hearing the crack of bone.

  Cole nearly fell out of his chair after his head bounced off Hardy’s fist. His head spinning away from his assailant, Cole stretched out his arms to grab the table and keep himself upright.

  “Wrong answer,” Hardy bellowed before getting to his feet.

  …………………………

  Nearly thirty minutes had passed before the door to the interrogation room opened and Hardy stepped into the hallway. He was wearing his flannel shirt and leather jacket again; however, he had his undershirt in his hands, wiping the sweat from his forehead and neck. His left cheek had a small cut. Two thin streaks of blood were slowly making their way to his chin before he swiped the undershirt across the area.

  Cruz saw him as soon as he emerged. “How’d it go in there? Is he still alive?” She was being facetious, but a part of her was unsure and she wanted to verify the prisoner’s condition.

  Hardy motioned toward the soldier, who produced the handcuffs and went into the room.

  As the door opened and closed, Cruz leaned around Hardy and peered into the room. Standing straight again, she saw the cut on his cheek. Taking his chin in her hand, she pushed sideways to get a better view. “Are you okay? Did he hit you?”

  “Several times,” replied Hardy, while dabbing the cut. “This was his best one.”

  Anderson Cole came out of the room, his hands cuffed in front of his body and a chain around his mid-section. With his left hand clasped around his prisoner’s left arm, the soldier led his prisoner down the hall.